Chapter Text
The leather bound journal was growing thin, pages threatening to fall from their binding, wet blotches working their way through the precious leaves, the writing becoming nothing more than smears of lost thoughts. Her shoulders slumped, body sagging as she rested her chin on her hand. It was almost uncomfortable, but it was too much effort to shift the entirety of her weight off the single -though admittedly sturdy- appendage. She just wanted to sleep. Or stay still long enough to close her eyes for a moment. For Oblivion’s sake, she couldn’t even bring herself to order that drink she’d been contemplating for the last hour.
The din of voices was soothing, a drone of noise falling into the distance as her eyes grew heavy. A wave of raucous laughter exploded, ripping her head from its perch, the bite of bread she had been chewing on making her choke and cough as a gasp caught in her throat. Fucking hell. She had really been pushing herself too hard lately.
Well, at least tonight she would get a bed that wasn’t laid over rock and dirt. A year on the road and that was about the best thing to happen.
Which was most definitely disheartening and frustratingly frustrating.
But Hermaeus Mora had put her on this road; he had given her everything she needed to find her answer. So he couldn’t have been mistaken. Any suggestion that he was went against the very fibers of her beliefs and reality. So here she was: continuing on, waiting for whatever it was that was going to happen.
“How’re ya settlin’? If you’re finished, I can take your dish.” The woman asked, gesturing to her long-since empty stew bowl. Thyra nodded, giving a small smile and leaned back for the young woman, plucking what remained of her loaf of bread up and keeping it contently in her hands. The returning smile was wide, eager energy radiating from the young girl. Well, that was her last chance to ask for a drink: none for her tonight, it seemed. That only left sleeping accommodations to be taken care of.
“I was curious: does this place have any spare rooms for rent?”
“Oh! Yes, I believe we do. I think, that is… I can go and see! Was it just one bed you needed?”
Thyra’s weariness ebbed some, the girl’s child-like demeanor endearing, almost giving her a purity that outshone this dank town that was too close a mirror to Falkreath. That kind of gloom more often than not snuffed out light like hers. Thyra smiled and, again, nodded, “Yes, thank you.”
She was gone only a moment, waves of blonde tussling about the tavern as she returned, placing a brass key, hard and worn and long since having shined, before her. “Here ya go, Miss.”
Another nod -a dismissal- yet the girl lingered, fingers pinching and squeezing at the bottom edge of her corset, eyes flittering towards her guest and then away, “I would hate to bother ya, Miss, but, by any chance… You wouldn’t be from around here, would you?”
Thyra’s fingers clasped around the key, eyes rising to meet large green ones, so doe-like, wonder and excitement a bright light shining from within.
Hmm. A pure soul indeed.
Thyra gave a nod and a smile, her movements slow and gentle as to not startle the woman with the soul of a woodland creature, “That’s right. What gave me away?”
The girl hopped, clapping her hands together as her face came alight, “I thought so! I must be honest, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a woman dressed as you are. I had even mistook you for a man when you first came in.”
Well, it wasn’t like that was the first time someone made that mistake.
“And your tattoos! They are so foreign… I’ve never seen any such as yours, much less by any proper woman I know.”
Thyra kept the amused huff to herself. It was almost precious how the girl kept flinging words at her like daggers, yet Thyra tensed as the girl leaned forward to get a better look at the dark plum colored lines criss-crossing across her face. She gave a smile, curt and polite and proper, and that seemed enough of a hint for the girl to back up, a blush rising.
“Not tattoos; it is simply paint. It’s a pretty common thing to wear where I’m from.” Thyra tore off and popped the last bit of bread into her mouth.
“I didn’t dare ask out right for fear of being rude-” Oh, sweet girl, “but where are you from, may I ask? I don’t recognize your accent at all.” She took a seat across the table, hands still clasped and still leaning forward. Thyra’s expression shifted into one of amusement and the girl was quick to correct herself, jolting up straight, hands falling to run over the front of her apron to fold out the barest of wrinkles. “Oh my, I’m so sorry. I didn’t- I tend to get ahead of myself, you know? I didn’t mean to spoil your evening. You must be tired from your journey. I should- It’s just, we rarely have outsiders rest here, and well -I really should go- well it gets dreadfully boring with the usual rabble.” The girl shoved herself and her chair from the table with a scrape of wood, head tucked low.
But Thyra only chuckled, holding up her hand for the flustered girl to slow down, “It’s fine, really; I don’t mind you asking at all. I come from the north, from the Tamriel continent. Skyrim, specifically.”
Her head shot up, eyes wide and mouth open. Thyra’s head tilted, eyes moving from the slack in her upper body to the curve on her brow: dismay, not aggression; not fear. “Skyrim...? Oh! I think I’ve heard tales of your people; dragon hunters from the north! My ma used ta tell my brother and I stories all the time when we were children! Legends saying you can slay even the most powerful of dragon with just a few spoken words.”
Huh, that… was surprising having someone this far south be familiar with her homeland. Then again, it wasn’t like dragon slayers were a common occurrence, even in Skyrim. So why wouldn’t there be tales? “If only it were that easy! Though, not all nords are Dragonborn.”
She blinked, “Dragonborn? Nord?”
Thyra kept her sigh to herself, “Mhmm, someone with the soul of a dragon born within a mortal body. They are the dragon hunters of Skyrim.”
Silence settled as the girl stared off, eyes glazed over by whatever spectacular daydream her mind was conjuring. “Wait, but then… Are you one? Are you a dragon slayer? A Dragonborn?”
Thyra’s smile was slow to grow.
The girl sucked in a sharp breath, her lungs unmoving as excitement and shock kept her frozen. It was only the shout of a man, bearded and greying, yelling at her which jolted her back into movement, “Mara, you’re supposed to be serving the customers, not letting their pints go dry! Get back to work, daft girl!”
Instantaneously the young woman was on her feet, giving a bow in apology, and also to probably hide the growing red embarrassment across her cheeks, “Sorry to have bothered you, Miss. Gosh, I’m in so much trouble. Your story was most enticing! Funny thing, that; it seems everyone has dragons on their mind lately.” She gave a wistful sigh, no doubt bringing another fantasy to life, then jumped as she remembered she was supposed to be working.
Wait, what?
Thyra was quick but gentle catching the girl’s arm, “There are others speaking about dragons? Who exactly, if you don’t mind me asking?” By the love of daedra, was this it? Was this the lead she had been searching for? It wasn’t like it was common for the presence of a dragon to go unnoticed, but after having left home, no one who was willing to talk seemed to know a damn thing.
“Hm? Oh, that’d be the dwarf over there talking to the man in grey robes. Supposedly he’s a wizard! So it makes sense, wizards talking of dragons, don’t ya think? I heard them whispering about it. A mountain, and a dragon who took it as its home. I think it happened a long time ago, though.” Mara spoke so casually; conspicuously pointing over to the men. Good lord, this girl was not suited for subtlety.
They were tucked away into a corner. This was the first time she had actually laid eyes on what Middle Earthers called a dwarf. He didn’t seem too dissimilar to the wizard, to be honest. For all accounts he seemed human, if not for the copious amount of hair, black in color with streaks of grey coming in, and perhaps a bit shorter than most if the comparison to the table he sat at was a good enough judge. His brow was heavy and eyes intense as he leaned in and whispered with the wizard.
Well, a dwarf was a good sign, right? Especially if said dwarf was above ground and far from any mountain. Well, a good sign for her anyway.
Thyra thanked Mara, passing along some extra coins for the information and the good company, and the girl beamed, bowing again.
Okay. Plan. Best way to approach…
‘Hi there, I heard you were talking about a dragon. Do you need one dead? What’s his name?’
Shit, that sounded so ridiculous, but there was no guessing as to how long those two would remain there. Did she want to risk the chance of losing them to think of something subtle, if she ever came up with something? There was only one thing she was subtle about and it sure as hell wasn’t her speechcraft skill. Endearing and persuasive, sure, but in no way subtle.
Fuck. Okay, Straightforward it was.
She eased out of her seat and towards the bar, ordering two pints before making her way over to their table. Her presence was easily noticed and all conversation ceased between the two, those dwarven eyes only growing in intensity with a glower. The wizard, though, was content to allow her to approach, his expression openly curious.
Thyra smiled, setting the mugs before them before pulling a chair over from another table. Years of schooling and scolding would have had her sitting down proper, yet the ache in her back was convincing enough to encourage her to forgo properness. Who knew how long this conversation would go and she sure as hell wasn’t going to be uncomfortable the entire time. So she spun it around, underarms resting against the back of the chair.
“Hello there, good sirs. I hope you are both having an enjoyable evening.”
She tried. Truly, she did, yet the dwarf didn’t seem to be taken in by her cheery charm and pushed the pint away. Yup, actually, that would make sense: who would accept a drink from a stranger in a tavern? Her uncle had made sure she knew to keep her wits about her in such a time. Not to mention her own mistakes of drinking with strangers.
“Is there something in which we can aid you with, or do you have a habit of bothering unsuspecting strangers?”
“Our evening has been uneventful for the most part, but most productive in the end. And what of yours?”
The wizard’s friendly response had the other two turning to him. A bit of a surprise, but hell, Thyra would take the opening given. She smiled oh-so obviously, her intent broadcasted, “Long, very long; I have been travelling south for a long time now and you are the first I have come across who are even knowledgeable of what I’m searching for.”
She could feel the shift of the dwarf’s weight, the slow, oh-so subtle move of his hand to his belt. Hmm, interesting. Why the secrecy around talk about a dragon? Was it a Southern thing?
It was the wizard who spoke next, words chosen carefully and eyes watching closely, “And what is it that you think we are knowledgeable of? We are only two old friends catching up over drinks.”
“Ah, forgive me, I did not realize you wished to keep your conversation private. Though, if that’s the case, then I suggest not talking in front of the barmaid; they have ears like a barn owl and a love of gossip.”
He studied her a moment before smiling grimly around his pipe and nodding.
“But you, my friends, are in luck! You have a dragon problem, and I have been searching for a dragon problem to fix!
It would seem her whimsical tone did not go appreciated by the dwarf as he slammed his fist against the table top, the drink which laid on its surface sloshing and spilling over slightly. “What interest could a woman have with something as evil as a dragon?” he growled, eyes burning and teeth grinding.
Thyra held up her hands, leaning back, and took a breath, “Forgive me, I realize I have been rather rude and forward: I simply wish to get to the point. My name is Thyra Gray-Man. I have travelled south from Skyrim in search of a dragon, a particular dragon named Smaug. If you know anything, I would ask that you please share your knowledge.”
“Skyrim? I know of your people: why would a nord leave Tamriel in search for word of Smaug? What interest is it to you?”
“Weell~ what other interest would a Dragonborn have with a dragon?” Thyra said, the relaxed smile hiding the caution that steeled her against the dwarf’s straight on gaze.
The dwarf scoffed, “The Dragonborns are said to be a noble people and they sent a woman out to battle a dragon by herself?”
“Well, it’s more of a personal quest for honor and glory than an assignment given by my superiors, if I am to be honest."
Their gaze held for a long beat before Thyra looked away. The dwarf swelled, haughty and smug over the small perceived victory. Yet the wizard granted Thyra the prize, “The prize you seek lies west of the Misty Mountains, in the abandoned dwarven kingdom of Erebor.”
Again both turned to face the older man, Thyra surprised but overjoyed while the dwarf’s expression quickly shifted to something darker. “Gandalf, this is no business of an outsider. Erebor and all that lies within it belong to my kin!”
“If it helps, my interest solely lies in the dragon and its death, not whatever treasure you may have hidden away within your home.” Thyra blinked, taken aback, but no, that made sense: who would welcome a stranger into their long lost hold. Thyra did not look away from the dwarf, wanting to impress upon the dwarf her sincerity. No matter how this conversation went, she needed him to understand: she meant no harm.
The wizard and the dwarf were silent, staring and conversing with no uttered sound. It was the smile from the grey wizard that signaled the conversation’s end. “It seems fortune is smiling upon you, Thorin, son of Thrain.” Turning to an openly curious Thyra, he laid out his proposal, “My lady, you are a capable warrior I can assume. We could both benefit from what I propose: Thorin is about to gather a company of dwarves to retake the Lonely Mountain. If you were to accompany us, we could aid each other in slaying this beast.”
“That is if Smaug even still lives, or lies within Erebor. He has not been seen for near 200 years. For all I know, my homeland could be lying unprotected for any to take.”
Well, that was foolish. Was he truly banking on that being the case? Also, yes, because a dragon, having traveled a long distance to plunder your home and your gold, would just decide to up and leave because he no longer cares for his prize. Thyra shook her head, “And what is your plan if he does live? Do you intend to leave if he is still nestled in your gold?”
“The dragon is gone.”
“I can guarantee he is not. Though… if he’s in one of his sleeps, this would be the best time to attack. Smaug is old -well, older- and even by Dragonborn standards, he will not be easy to kill. If you wish to reclaim your home, you will want my help,” Thyra said and turned to the wizard, any humor from her expression gone. “If there is still a chance Smaug is in your mountain -and he most certainly is- then I will travel with you.”
Instantaneously a smile bloomed across the wizard’s face and he clapped his hands together. Thorin didn’t even pretend to try a smile. Hmm, how much of a problem was he going to be? How long would it take for him to try and lose her during their journey in hopes that she never even came close to his precious mountain? It was a momentary thought, coming and going without much care, and Gandalf took up the untouched flask of ale she had originally brought, holding it out. The dwarf’s movements were slow and oh-so very much reluctant as he took up his own flask, holding it to the wizard’s, and Thyra swiped the remaining flask and a bit exuberantly clacked their drinks together, taking a hearty swig.
The taste was strong and foul, having lost her taste for alcohol a number of years ago, but she swallowed the drink despite it.
“To a safe journey ahead of us.”
“To reclaiming Erebor.”
“To the death of Smaug the Terrible!”
Finally, she found her path forward. Granted, it was far from home and she was partnering up with someone who definitely did not want her around, but hey, did that really matter in the end?
Thorin’s eyes, dark and heavy with distrust and antagonism, never strayed away from Thyra’s figure. Noticing his stalking stare, she gave an easy smile, her cheer genuine, even if it had nothing to do with the dwarf and everything to do with becoming closer to finding Smaug. Thorin’s eyes darkened before turning away and determinedly ignoring her.
This… was definitely going to be an interesting journey.